


ain't it exciting you

by lovespring



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Angry Sex, Blow Jobs, Dirty Talk, Guns, Hand Jobs, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Other: See Story Notes, Outdoor Sex, Pet Names, Porn With Plot, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Scratching, Size Difference, Threats of Violence, Under-negotiated Kink, Unsafe Sex, we love traumatized people finding comfort in each other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-31
Updated: 2019-05-31
Packaged: 2020-03-26 10:11:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19003672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovespring/pseuds/lovespring
Summary: The kid’s quick, not agile, or elegant, or runner quick, but quick like he knows the proclivities of his body really, really well. He’s yelling, skipping down the sidewalk to their left, and Natasha laughs under her breath.“You’re way out of your depth with this one, Barnes.” She mutters in Russian. Bucky scowls.“Shut up and aim for the heads.”





	ain't it exciting you

Bucky ducks his head close to the open window of a toyota, hoping against hope that today is his lucky day. The front is damaged, but the engine looks fine. The two hind windows are smashed, so it’s not gonna be ideal for protection but they can fix that. They just need something than can drive for a while, something with room in the trunk, something that can be hotwired. Toyota, hyundai, a Honda civic would do. He groans when he sees the steering wheel, bent and curled up into the dashboard. Well. He walks further down the street, passes an overturned mazda and truck with all tires ripped off and the engine half-empty. The road is littered with destruction, ripped open garbage and scattered glass. A while back shit was still smoking, smoldering fires stretching out for days but even that’s over now. Bucky’s hearing feels over sensitive in the silence. He looks behind him, up at the tall building they’ve been camped in for a while now - some computer factory or other, stocked with walkie-talkies and a snack kitchen, back-up water supplies. They’ve built up a storage by now, but being stuck here, in the rotting carcass of a city crawling with maggots is the last place any of them want to be. The walkie-talkie in his hand crackles. 

“ _ I see you staring, Barnes. You should be good for now, but get a move on. Clint’s getting antsy. Over. _ ” Bucky scoffs, strains his neck to look further down to street.

“Tell Barton he’s not my type. Over.” 

There’s another crackle, assumingly when Natasha changes the channels. Bucky smiles, clicks the dashboard button to pop open the trunk of a lime green volvo parked halfway onto the sidewalk. Nat comes back on his channel.

“ _ He said to tell you that he’s deaf. Sorry, could’ve told you that _ .”

“I think the term is partially deaf.”

“ _ Get a move on, Barnes. Action to South-East.” _

“Bad?” He looks around, moves a hand to the gun in his belt.

“ _ Not as far as he can see. Not a flood. But they’re gonna round the corner to your right in a few minutes. Over and out _ .” Bucky’s eyes flicker back to his right, ears perched for sound from South-East. He goes through the trunk, finds a blanket, some beef jerky, some pretzels. Fatty, salty food like people packed provisions to get out of town. He doesn’t give enough of a fuck to think about the foreboding tone to stealing dead people’s food. Tucking the stuff under his left arm, he looks back over his shoulder to keep an eye on the South-East corner when he hears the radio crackle again.

“ _ Blind spot flood, Barnes, missed it. North-West.”  _ And yeah. He can hear it. 

There’s really nothing like that sound. At first, all it reminds you of is animals, hunting maybe, a lack of ethical concern in their search of food - tigers aren’t evil because they don’t have a moral compass, stuff like that. Feral, mindless. But then you listen, because sometimes all you can is listen, and the snarls are different, unlike anything you’ve heard before. Maybe because human vocal cords aren’t like a tiger’s, or a lion’s, like - because Bucky knows what it sounds like when a person growls. And so the sound is an uncomfortable, unearthly mixture of animalistic, mindless ferocity and the nagging knowledge that whoever is making that sound looks like everyone you’ve ever known, and that’s pretty fucked up. And also the sound of moving. Scuffling feet on asphalt. Coming closer.

“ _ You should run _ .” Natasha says.

“Yep.” Bucky says. 

When he’s half-way to their building, the flood squeezes its way out between buildings further up the street and Bucky almost stumbles. There’s two people in front, alive ones, obviously drawing the crowd this way.  _ Idiots.  _ He watches as the shorter of the two stumbles and gets pulled back up by the other one, who’s significantly bigger, faster, and seems to be slowed down. Jesus, Bucky’s gonna watch these people die. He whistles loudly on a whim, like a fucking idiot.

The guys look up when he opens the metal door to the building, immediately charging for him, also curving the group of ten-fifteen zombies his way. It’s gonna get messy. The door is heavy, slow to open and close and the flood is so close behind them that they’re gonna have a handful of walking dead come in after them. But then, when they’re just a few yards away from the door, the bigger guy pushes the other one in front of him and changes direction. Bucky doesn’t get to see if it works, because he catches the kid around his wrist, yanks them both through the door and pulls it shut, swearing until it closes with a heavy thud. He doesn’t get to rest, though. Because of course he doesn’t. 

“That’s - Sam! He didn’t get in, we have to go back,  _ Sam -  _ “ the kid squeezes in front, hand already on the door but Bucky pushes him away easily. He gets the angriest look anyone’s ever directed his way before, especially considering he’s just saved the kid’s life. The kid isn’t really a kid, Bucky can see, even in the low light of the hallway. His bone structure, his jaw and the line of his nose is mature, even if he’s small, sharp-looking.  _ Pretty _ , Bucky’s mind supplies, real good-looking guy with clenched fists and murder in his eyes. Right, well. It’s been a while since Bucky’s gotten any, and he has a dirty-minded anger response, so sue him. “What are you  _ doing _ .” The kid says. Bucky dumps his looted treasure on the floor.

“Saving your life, for some fucking reason. Thanks for bringing the zombies to our doorstep, by the way. You really didn’t have to.” The guy goes to the door again, Bucky pushes him away again.

“I’m going back  _ out _ .” On his third attempt, Bucky grabs the kid by his collar, throws him up against the wall. 

“Know when to quit. Your boy out there saved your life. Did it on purpose, you just didn’t fucking notice. Don’t fuck that up.” The kid looks more pissed off than scared, even as he scrambles to stay on his feet. His eyes burn at Bucky for a while, considering, calculating. When he lifts a hand, Bucky thinks he’s going to punch him, but instead he touches Bucky’s cheek real soft - and then scratches,  _ drags  _ his nails down his face until Bucky rips himself away. 

“Ow, jesus,  _ fuck _ .” 

Huh. Bucky’s taken several punches, kicks too, hits with iron and rock, but he’s very rarely scratched. “The fuck is wrong with you?” The kid is fuming, which Bucky finds a little misplaced. To his right, he hears footsteps and Natasha comes down the concrete stairs, gun drawn. 

Bucky still has a hand lifted to his hand, offended. 

“Everything okay?” She asks and Bucky shrugs.

“Found a stray kitten, Romanov. Know your husband’s a dog person but we can compromise.”

“Screw you.”

“Well, hey, screw  _ you _ .”

Nat looks amused, which translates to an arched eyebrow on her face. “You two know each other?” Before Bucky can answer, the kid honest-to-god huffs. 

“I’m going.” He says, and Bucky doesn’t stop him this time.

Natasha does.

She’s quiet on her feet, so the only way the kid can hear that she’s right behind him is the sound her gun makes when she clicks the safety off. “If you open the door I’ll kill you before whatever’s outside can. We’ll give them the rest.” The kid turns around slowly, stockstill and jaw locked tight. He doesn’t look scared, even raises his jaw a little and god, he’s so fucking  _ pretty  _ staring down the barrel of a gun, Bucky gets a little envious of Natasha. A while, okay. Whatever. The kid speaks, his voice low.

“I have to get out there. That’s my friend.”

“He’s dead.”

“You don’t  _ know  _ that.”

“Look, kitty-cat - “

“ _ Fuck _ you.”

“Shut up, both of you.” Nat says, and Bucky’s about to bitch at her, but she just nods towards Bucky’s belt. The radio, changing channels.

“ _ Uh, roger-roger? _ ” Says Clint, sounding unsure and - amused, maybe. Bucky answers, still looking at the kid. Not like he’s gonna make a run for it with both Natasha’s gun and stone-cold eyes trained on him, but still.

“ _ Listen, there is a guy. There is a guy on a streetlamp. _ ” 

They’re silent. The kid jerks where he stands. Natasha bites her lip. Bucky doesn’t know what to say. 

“What.” He ends up saying.

“ _ I’m on the roof. Good-looking black dude, he’s uh. Perched. On top a street lamp. Got seventeen bodies around him, some from south-east, the others from the crowd. _ ” Bucky sighs but the kid is almost vibrating, looking at Bucky with wide eyes.

“I know.” Bucky says, tired. “I know, dude, whatever.” He speaks into the radio again, loudly, so Clint can hear. “Hey, Barton - “

“ _ I can take out half of them from here, easy. Not comfortable with any more than that. _ ” 

Bucky nods. Clint is protective of his arrows, uses them short-range often enough to avoid ever running out. “Let us know when you’re done. Over and out.” Nat lowers her gun a little, keeping it pointed at the kid’s feet. Bucky sighs. “This is what’s gonna happen.” He says. “Our friend’s gonna help your friend some of the way. Then your friend is gonna have to get his ass off that streetlamp and over here real fucking fast. Don’t know how that’s gonna happen, but - “

“I’ll distract them.”

“I’m gonna lose my fucking mind - Natasha, stop  _ laughing. _ ” Natasha doesn’t laugh often, and certainly not around people she doesn’t know, but this kid’s insistence in making things difficult for himself must have broken her. She clicks the safety back on and covers her twitching mouth with a hand. Clint starts speaking from the radio again. 

“ _ Eight ones left now. Guy is waving at me. Hi, guy. On my way to y’all now. Over and out.”  _

“I’m going.” The kid says, and Bucky rubs his temple. Natasha looks at him, then at the kid, with a little impressed glimmer in her eyes. She nods. 

“I’m behind you. Not even going to aim the gun at you this time.” The kid gives her a sweet, thankful smile and yeah, Bucky’s definitely jealous of that. He yanks his gun out of its holster, cursing, clicking the safety off. In two angry strides, he has his back to the door. 

He points at the guy. “I open the door. I stay at the door. You do whatever the hell you want to. This door closes the second anything gets too close to the lady behind you.” Natasha rolls her eyes. Bucky ignores it. “This is your mission, dude.” The guy nods, looks like he’s psyching himself up. Bucky really doesn’t want to watch him die. He opens the door.

The kid’s quick, not agile, or elegant, or runner quick, but quick like he knows the physicalities of his body really, really well. He’s yelling, skipping down the sidewalk to their left, and Natasha chuckles.

“ _ You’re way out of your depth with this one, Barnes _ .” She mutters in Russian. Bucky scowls.

“ _ Shut up and aim for the heads. _ ” 

The kids climbs through an obstacle further down, two crashed cars broken together, which makes Bucky’s heart beat a little faster. But then the guy jumps off the streetlamp once he has a safe landing and takes off running and the kid waits. And the kid waits. And Bucky wants to scream, and the kid waits until the walkers are almost at his throat, and then clambers over the crashed cars, which - yeah, okay, they’re gonna figure out to walk around it, but they’re too stupid to successfully get over it in the way the guy could, so it buys both of them an extra four seconds in which they’re both at, and through the door. It shuts again, and Bucky wants to keep it fucking shut this time. 

“Rogers, you fucking idiot, that was  _ wild _ \- “

“Yeah, you’re so welcome - “ They’re hugging each other, and laughing and Bucky doesn’t want Natasha to read his mind, so he holsters his gun again, clears his throat. The big guy turns around, smiling. Jesus. He really fucking hopes this isn’t a boyfriend or something. “Hey,” he says. “Name’s Sam. Jesus, thank you, we were - “ but before Bucky can take his outstretched hand, the kid is in between them, shoving hard at Bucky’s chest.

“Oh, Steve, don’t - “

“ _ You  _ wanted to leave him! You told me he was dead!” And oh, that’s - that’s too loud. Bucky can hear pawing behind him, that chilling, ungodly sound of the walkers, the groan of the metal. The door likely won’t break, but as long as they can be heard, the walkers are going to stick around, drawing more and more to the building. He winces, looking at Natasha. 

“Lower your voice, kotenok.”  _ Steve _ just squints at him. 

_ Steve  _ does not lower his voice. “Did you know he didn’t die? Did you just not wanna get your hands dirty?” Bucky laughs.

“Fuck do you know about dirty hands. Settle down.” Steve looks like he gets about three hundred percent angrier at being told to shut up and at any other time, Bucky would love to play with that but he also does not want to get eaten so his dick can wait. Steve can’t, apparently. He shoves at Bucky again, and that’s getting a little annoying. “Settle. Down.” Bucky growls, and Steve laughs.

“ _ Fuck  _ you. You can’t - “

He has the kid pinned against a wall with a hand over his mouth when Barton comes down the stairs. Sam makes a noise of protest, but Bucky knows Natasha will have pointed the gun at him when he immediately shuts up. Barton hums. 

“Sorry I’m late.” He says, sitting down, resting his bow across his knees. “Hi, guy. Hi, honey. Hi, Buck. Who’s your friend?” Bucky ignores him, is busy fighting with Steve up against the wall. Jesus, he’s all sharp, lithe limbs,digging into Bucky’s soft parts, quick and brutal. Both of Steve’s hands land on Bucky’s, pressed against his face, and he starts scratching, ripping into the skin and leaving angry, red lines over his knuckles. Bucky squirms, grabs his hands.

“Look at you go.” He hisses. “Ow,  _ fuck _ , you got some claws on you.” He presses harder, tips Steve’s head back with a shake. His hand covers the entire half of the guy’s face easily, his middle finger reaching the temple to press in right where it hurts. Behind him the other guy -  _ Sam -  _ is talking in a low voice, tense like he wants to yell but knows it wouldn’t get him anywhere. Smart guy, Sam.

“Steve, just be quiet, we’ll figure it out, just be quiet, don’t fuck this up for yourself.” Steve isn’t quiet at all, whines brokenly when Bucky presses his finger in harder. 

“I’ll pop your jaw off at its fucking hinges, kid, I swear to god.” He won’t, doesn’t want to, but - blue eyes pop open at that, bright and burning, and Bucky still can’t find any real fear in them, just anger, annoyance. Even as his breath starts quickening, shortening, the guy looks like he still has the upper hand. Behind him, Sam curses.

“He’s - you gotta let him breathe man, he’s asthmatic.” Barton snorts, disbelieving -  _ “Did he say asthmatic?” _ \- and Bucky turns to look at Sam. He’s holding up both hands and his eyes are flickering - he sounds scared now, like the concept of this kid breathing himself into a frenzy is worse than the gun pointed at his head. “I’m not joking, we’ll play by your rules just - it’s really not the kinda death you want on your conscious. Look at him, dude,  _ please _ .” Bucky looks back and the kids looks different, his eyes are blank with what looks like tears, and his face is red. Not angry red, but choked red, gonna-pass-out-red. He can’t breathe. Bucky yanks his hand away like he’s been burned. 

Sam is in front of Steve before his knees hit the ground, starts talking to him in a low voice. Bucky looks at Natasha and Clint, who both look caught off guard, confused and tired. Yeah. It’s been a long  day.

-

The fire escape is broken on the last two floors, so they’ve camped out on the third. There’s not a lot, they keep most things packed - the ratty bedrolls they’ve found could be a lot worse, and Clint’s a natural freak who can sleep anywhere. Bucky wonders how he is going to offer one of their impromptu beds to Steve without insulting him.

“Welcome to the crib.” Barton says, as Bucky immediately goes to put the food in the army issues backpack he has. It’s an open office space, torn apart already before they got there. They’d cleaned the place up, for corpses and bits of corpses and anything of value, and now the desks are pushed around to make decent protection, if all hell somehow breaks loose - or breaks in.

Sam whistles. “Not bad.” He says, sounding impressed. He has a hand on Steve’s shoulder and Steve - Steve still looks so fucking angry, glowering at Bucky, hands clenching in fits and starts by his sides. 

Nat steps in behind them, humming. “It’s not much, but it’s home.” She says, voice dripping with morbid humor. 

The three of them dig through their bags for something to eat, while Steve and Sam hover in the middle of the room, looking unsure. Clint chucks a bag of chips at Sam who catches it with one hand which - yeah, whatever, Bucky could’ve done that. “Come join the circle, kids.” Clint says, patting invitingly at the grimy floor. Their eyes are wide, when they sit down, and Bucky wonders: no backpacks, no jackets, just shoes and shirts, and running for their lives like that - 

“Been awhile since you’ve eaten?” Clint asks, handing them a can of tomato soup each. It’s more than they usually would use on one person, but the quiet, shaky “thank you” it gets out of Steve makes Bucky want to dump the entire bag in his lap. God. Gross.

Sam laughs, stirs with the plastic spoon. “We got caught off guard. It was ugly for a while.” He doesn’t say anything else about it. “You guys vets?” He asks, and Bucky smiles at the floor. 

“Something like that.” Intelligence agents and assassins are almost the same thing as US army.

He le ans back when Sam and Barton start talking, content to not contribute at all. Natasha occasionally breaks in - she seems to like this  _ Sam _ dude, but mostly stays quiet as well, or talks in quick, fluid sign language with Barton which Sam respectfully doesn’t comment on.

And Steve.

Bucky keeps feeling eyes on him, the kid flickering between his food, the waning light from the windows and Bucky. At some point, Nat turns on the battery driven lamp they have and puts it in the middle, warm yellow light, making the shadows of everyone’s faces dramatic and defined. And eventually, Bucky finds it a little difficult to take his eyes off Steve as well. He still looks angry, his shoulders shaking a little under his stupid woolen sweater, but something in his eyes have changed. They look less wild, overcome with a superior focus that Bucky really likes. He looks like he either wants to scratch Bucky up again, or take his clothes off. Bucky is so,  _ so  _ okay with both. Later, Clint and Sam get up, and Nat reluctantly follows them over so Sam can coo at Clin’t bow because they’re both fucking weirdos, it turns out. He takes a little leap of faith, holds Steve’s honey-darkened look for a few seconds and winks at him.

“Anyway.” He says, and gets up. “First watch is on me, I guess.” Sam immediately starts to protest, offering to take it to pay back and while Bucky does believe in favors and conventionality, he needs  _ Sam  _ to stay away from the room if this is going to work. He waves a hand, slings the new blanket over his shoulder and reloading his gun. “It’s not a problem. Real pretty view up there.” On the way out of the door, he sees Nat turn to Barton and make a gesture with both hands - Bucky knows what “obvious” is in American sign language, and he knows that Natasha knows that he knows. 

They don’t usually do watches on the roof. It’s not necessary. But it’s not the walkers Bucky’s interested in right now, so Natasha can mind her own business.

When he’s just below the fifth floor, he can hear the quick patter of feet on the stairs below him and he grins as he opens the door to the roof, patting the indent in his pocket where the key is. The air isn’t quite cold yet, and the sun is still just below the horizon, allowing him to see plenty of city without any of its artificial light. It’s almost a terrace, a wide, flat square, surrounded by railing and the door leading out of a concrete block in the middle of it. Bucky dumps the blanket by the railing, puts his gun on top of it, and waits.

Steve is huffing slightly when he comes onto the roof.

“The hell kinda name is Bucky?” He says, just as Bucky turns around and he can’t help but laugh, surprised at the outburst. He shrugs, crossing his arms.

“We can’t all have good American names like Steve. Like  _ Sam _ .”

“Is Bucky your real name?”  _ No. _

“Is Sam your boyfriend?” Steve looks completely caught off guard, actually taking half a step back. He frowns, defensive. 

“What would you do if he was?”

Bucky shrugs, swallowing misplaced, unwarranted jealousy. “Tell you good job. Dude’s a catch.”

“Do you think I’d be up here if he was my boyfriend?” Bucky’s grin feels too wide for his face,  _ feral _ , but Steve’s chest jumps and his lips part. Maybe there is a God, after all. 

Bucky starts walking towards him, slowly backing him towards the concrete wall. “You got ulterior motives, Stevie?” He asks, and Steve shrugs, nonchalant.

“I think I read the room pretty well.” His back hits the wall with a soft thump and Bucky’s stomach is simmering, bubbling with excitement. It’s been way to fucking long. 

“You did.” Bucky’s close now, and he reaches up, wonders what the next step should be, wonders how to do this without scaring him off, when Steve puts a hand on Bucky’s neck and pulls him down into a kiss. It’s a little too wet and a little too hard but Bucky can’t remember ever having a better kiss. He fits his fingers in Steve’s belt loops, pulls him closer.

Steve bites down around Bucky’s lower lip and Bucky slaps a flat hand against the wall just over the kid’s head, growling. This is the best he’s felt in a while. “If you think I’m really gonna let you fuck me out here.” Steve gasps, even as he lets himself be pressed into the dust. “You’re dumber than you look. Which, no offense, is pretty impressive.”

“You kissed  _ me _ , no offense. Real altar boy, aren’t you.” Steve smiles, pulls Bucky down with two mean long-fingered hands on his shoulders.

“‘Course.” He says. “Raised catholic.” Bucky can’t help but laugh at that, hot breath puffing into the open shadow of Steve’s mouth. They wrestle Steve’s sweater up over his head, and Bucky pulls his jacket off, laughing when Steve keeps trying to help.

“You went to college, altar boy?” He asks, and Steve nods, disney-blue eyes shadowed and kiss-stupid and trained on Bucky’s lips. It’s a good look. Bucky muscles a thigh between Steve’s legs, pushing a strangled moan out between his lips. He lets him grind against him, flexes the muscle when he can feel Steve’s cock through the denim. Bucky wants to get at that  _ yesterday _ . “College boy, too, okay.” He bites around the sharp cut of Steve’s jaw and then spins him around, presses him back against the wall face-first. The kid moans because he’s fucking transparent and Bucky hides a grin in his hairline. “Then you know what getting fucked college-style is, huh.”

That snaps Steve out of it. He squirms in Bucky’s grasp and the dazed fuck-me look drains away from his eyes from one blink to the next. “Oh, that’s real nice of you. You’re gonna get your rocks off and leave me hanging?”  Bucky catches the left one of Steve’s pointy little paws, pinning it in the small of his back and letting the other one flail. It makes Steve off-kilter, imbalanced, eventually it’s going to make him want to give Bucky his other hand just to be even. Bucky doesn’t want Steve to relax just yet. He leans back a bit, yanks Steve’s hips with him so they’re pressed together and groans happily when Steve wiggles against him, rocking his half-hard cock against his hard little tailbone. The build-up makes any stimulation feel doubled, intense. “It’s either that or I’m gonna tear you open getting my rocks off in another way.” It’s an offhand remark, mostly meant to piss him off, but he can feel the shivers through Steve’s t-shirt. Bucky tucks that one away for later. “Besides, what limp-dicked college boy made you think like that, huh? I’ll take care of you. You just keep tight for me and I’ll get you there, kitten.” 

Steve scoffs, rests his face on his other hand. 

“Yeah, ‘cus you seem like such a selfless lover.” 

He ignores that for now, even lets go of the hand (pressing half-moon indentations on Bucky’s wrist) in favor of groping Steve’s ass. He slaps a flat hand to the meat of it, and Steve jumps, makes a sweet little noise that sounds hurt and pornographic in the  _ sorry, daddy _ way. He wishes for a lot of things suddenly: for lube, and for a few hours in a real bed, for handcuffs, real ones. Bucky wants to fuck this kid until he cries. 

“Definitely not selfless.” Bucky finally answers, reaching around to thumb open Steve’s pants. For the piece of work that he is, the kid makes it real easy. “But by the virgin fucking Mary, the world is going to end the day I can’t make a pretty boy come.” He pulls Steve’s pants all the way down, his underwear with, and good god he could  _ sing  _ looking at that pale expanse of skin, the sweet curve of his ass, the soft shine the twilight makes of his body hair and the darkness between his legs. Hand to god - ‘till he cries. 

Steve is already getting restless, squirming with discomfort under the attention and is about to run his mouth when Bucky folds a hand over the nape of his neck and spits, warm and heavy, on his lower back. Steve’s entire body shivers, tension seems to seep out of his shoulders and he chokes on a moan, presses the side of his face against the wall as his eyes flutter shut.  _ Good  _ boy. 

Bucky tries not to smile too wide as he gathers up the spit, smears it over Steve’s inner thighs. He spits in his hand again and Steve sighs.

“Where’d your claws go, kitten?” He asks, softly. Steve’s thighs squeeze around his hand and he cups his palm, feels his way through and up until he can get his fingers on Steve’s cock, hot heat against his skin. Steve breathes out, pushing his hips back.  “Oh, I see.” He coos. “All you need is for someone to put you in your place, huh? Keep purring for me, pussycat, I’ll take care of you.”

“You just gonna talk shit or is anything exciting gonna happen?” Steve snaps, voice suddenly crystal clear and pissed off and Bucky laughs out loud at that. Can’t get too comfortable with him, apparently. He likes that. He hums, licking at Steve’s nape and grinding against his ass hard enough to make him scrabble for leverage against the wall.

“I got something exciting for you, pussycat, but you gotta be real good to get it.” He opens his pants, lets Steve hear the slow drag of the zipper. “You gonna be good?” He asks, ready to tease and poke and prod Steve into submitting but he just says “I’ll be good, I’ll be real good” on an exhale and Bucky’s dick honest to god jumps when he takes it out of the open fly. He doesn’t push his pants down at all, just spreads his legs a little and mumbles “Keep it tight, remember?” into the sweat-slicked skin of Steve’s hairline. 

And  _ oh _ . 

It’s not as good as the real thing, obviously, the tight, crushing warmth, the sucking feeling Bucky remembers. But there’s something about feeling cold air next to the warm wetness of Steve’s thighs that heightens everything, sending cool sparks of pleasure up his spine. Steve is making little  _ uh, uh, uh _ noises that curl their way into Bucky’s ears, and through half-closed eyes he sees Steve dig his nails into the grittiness of the wall. The tip of his cock presses against Steve’s balls, not at all enough to get him off, but enough to tease, to make him balance on the cusp of  _ good _ , and Bucky is just about to reach around Steve’s torso, when his eyes fall in between their bodies, where sweat is making Steve’s shirt stick just above his ass.

“Pretty kitty.” He hums, thoughtlessly, and rucks it up a bit. Slowing his thrusts, watching his cock sink in and out under Steve’s ass, Bucky opens his mouth and spits again. It lands on his tailbone, right between the dimples and he smears it around with a thumb, then trails down to press against Steve’s hole.

“Could have some fun with this, too.” He muses, and Steve is shaking, breathing through his teeth. Bucky circles his thumb, not really pressing in. Steve is tight, and dry under the sweat and spit, and soft - coarse, curly hair giving way to silky skin underneath. Fucking into  _ that  _ would tear him up, make him hurt in a way that Bucky isn’t really interested in. But Steve doesn’t have to know that.

“You think you know the first thing about fucking because you let some shitty philosophy major stick his dick in you?” He spits again, spreads Steve’s ass and spits hard, and Steve bites out a moan that breaks in the middle, loud and shaky. Bucky sighs, smearing the spit out. “Kinda wanna fuck you up, pussycat.” He presses the tip of his thumb in, feels the desperate clenching like it can’t decide between opening up and keeping him out. God. He can feel Steve’s rabbit-quick heartbeat against the pad of his thumb, can feel the blood rushing from the inside. His mouth is dry. Snapping out of it, Bucky pulls away, his dick slipping from the sweet, wet clasp of Steve’s thighs. He takes it in hand, the other still curled around Steve’s hips and presses his cock against the hole, humming in consideration.

“You think it’ll fit?”

Steve gasps, disbelieving. “Please, let me - “

“You gonna cry for me if I tear you up like this?”

“ _ Bucky _ , I want - “

“Oh, baby, saying my name like that is only gonna make things worse for yourself.”

“Let me suck you off,  _ please. _ ”

For one blinding moment of white-hot pleasure at those words alone, Bucky only thinks of having Steve on his knees, wonders if he’ll keep the ability to snap back to his bright-eyed, sharp-tongued wit at a moment’s notice or if that can be fucked out of him. But then he considers it for longer than a second, in the quiet, gradual blackness of the night and empathy nags at him, insistent. He rubs his cock between the cheeks of Steve’s ass and leans in close. 

“You don’t gotta do that, kitten.” He mutters, rubbing his thumb against the head of Steve’s dick, slow and teasing. “All you gotta do is purr for me and I’m happy.” Steve reaches behind him then, folds a hand over Bucky’s neck and scratches, digs his nails in a little. His back is arched, chest heaving.

“Let me suck you off? It’s - I’ll be good, I’ll be quick, just - listen, you should be begging  _ me  _ for this.” Bucky laughs out loud again, and it feels kind of fucking dumb, his dick wet and his heart in throat, laughing at the end of the world because this stupid fucking twink almost killed all of them two hours before. Steve turns around on unsteady legs and Bucky kisses him, mostly to avoid looking him the eyes. Some siren-magic-bullshit that he’d like to avoid.

“I don’t beg. Get on your knees, now.” Steve does, with his pants around his ankles and Bucky realizes that the quick wit and the  _ sorry, daddy _ subby shit are interchangable, fluid in the lines of Steve’s face. Bucky’s never out of his depth but this, here, it kind of feels like he is - Steve curls his long, clever fingers around Bucky’s cock and smiles. Yeah. Natasha was right.

“I obviously never hooked up with philosophy major, by the way.” Steve says, parting his pink-bitten lips to press a kiss to the side of Bucky’s cock. Bucky leans his weight against the wall with one hand, the other reaching down to curl around Steve’s ear, tugging a little, petting over his hair. 

“Oh, yeah?” He prompts, and Steve nods.

“Philosophy majors are obnoxious. Talk too much.” Bucky’s laugh turns into a choke when Steve starts stroking, tightly, because he’s a smart boy who learns quickly. It’s really more of a wet handjob with teeth and tongue because he’s a smart boy who  also doesn’t throw himself face-first at strangers’ unprotected dicks, and probably especially not if said strangers and their dicks haven’t seen soap in more than a week. But Bucky really isn’t picky at this point.

“God, that’s good.” He says when Steve starts twisting his wrist on the upstroke. Steve’s other hand is thumbing at his balls, and his teeth catch on the bottom of Bucky’s dick and the wait’s been way too fucking long. “Use your mouth, kitten, go a little tighter -  _ just  _ like that, good boy, fuck, you’re gonna make me come.” Steve hums - Bucky has his eyes closed now, both hands on the wall just to focus on what he’s feeling alone, the wet-hot pull between his legs. Steve scratches a hand down the skin on Bucky’s thigh, pushes his pants down to get his mouth around his balls, and Bucky’s careening - “Oh, fuck, that’s it, come on - “ it’s building, and  _ building _ and Bucky wouldn’t let Steve take his hand off now if a carrier plane full of walkers got dumped on the roof with them. “Baby, baby,  _ fuck _ \- “ He’s loud when he comes, but bites down on a groan while he shakes through it, rocks hips hips into Steve’s hand a few times, stretching it out. “Jesus  _ christ _ .” He forces his eyes open, blinks the stars away until he can see the real night-sky, the bluish darkness, and looks down at Steve. There’s come on his collarbone, and the ground between his spread knees but most of it is on his hand, gleaming and milky-white. Steve’s eyes are hazy again, unfocused, tongue tip pink where curls around his fingers, and his dick is still hard. Bucky really doesn’t wanna bask in the afterglow anymore. His knees hit the ground hard, taking Steve’s hand away from his mouth. Steve whines a little, stumbles over a breath and Bucky smiles as he gathers the come over his fingers.

“I’ll let you have it later, kitten, I swear to fucking god.” He rubs a flat, wet hand over Steve’s dick, teasing, and Steve sounds like he’s been punched, both hands coming up to dig into Bucky’s shoulders. “Give you my come every time you ask. Now I gotta take care of you like I promised, though.” 

Steve doesn’t answer in words, just moans, relieved and hurt, like he can’t believe he’s feeling this good. Bucky starts stroking him, still light, and sweeping his thumb over the head just to see Steve shake out of his skin. He’s wrestling his hands under Bucky’s shirt, scratching the skin up. 

“There you are.” Bucky whispers, presses their foreheads together. “Got your claws back, huh? Show me, come on. Jesus, you’re a filthy fucking danger junkie just like the rest of us, come  _ on. _ ” Steve growls, angry and helplessly turned on, and Bucky can’t help but wince at the feeling of breaking skin, of Steve digging one sharp nail in and  _ dragging _ . Steve is a hellcat, squirming and hissing and rocking against him, hands flailing, and he knows they don’t have time to calm him down properly, so he grabs Steve’s jaw, digs his fingers in as he tightens his hold on his dick. Bucky smiles, changes his grip so he can slide two fingers into Steve’s open mouth, saying “Bite me and I break your jaw, okay?” and disney-blue eyes flutter shut. “Good kitty.” He whispers. Like this, pinned by Bucky’s hands, and clinging to him like a vine, Steve can’t do much other than feel, growling around Bucky’s fingers. Bucky’s still smiling, quickening his strokes, making cooing noises against Steve’s temple. “Come on.” He says. “Give it to me, sweetheart. I know how close you are, show me you can do it, kitten.” Steve’s face screws up, mouth opening around Bucky’s fingers and to Bucky’s surprise, and valiant attempt to get hard again, he’s completely quiet when he comes. “ _ God _ .” Bucky whispers in the silence, milking his cock. He means to say more, but he’s dumbstruck, staring at Steve’s blissed out face, eyes half-shut but totally unseeing. Steve’s hands rhythmically loosen their vice-like grip on Bucky’s shoulders and he wouldn’t be surprised to find blood there later. Steve comes down, slowly, gracefully, breath shaky and quick and Bucky remembers something, takes his hand away from Steve’s mouth to press it against his chest. 

“You good?” He whispers. Steve’s eyes blink open, still so close. “Your breathing.” Bucky clarifies. “You okay?” At that Steve nods, and Bucky’s a little overwhelmed by the embarrassing amount of relief that he feels. Fuck. Definitely ut of his depth. His wipes his other hand on hand on his pants as Steve tips forward, head landing in the crook of his neck. Jesus, they’re filthy. 

“Hey. Hey, Steve, let me look at you.” Bucky says, tugs at Steve’s hair with one hand. Steve leans back again, reluctantly, and Bucky sucks a breath through his teeth. The top of Steve’s right ear is scuffed raw, along with the right side of his face - in better light he’d be a glowing pink, maybe a little bloody, which isn’t a bad look, but they should disinfect it anyway. His eyes are teary, brighter now - but he looks good, sated. All the tension he was carrying before, little, powerful body brimming over with anxiety, seems to be gone now. Steve smiles a dopey grin, and Bucky rolls his eyes, mostly just to hide his own. “Get up, punk.” He says. “Put your fucking pants back on.” Steve groans, lets himself be helped onto his shaky legs. They tuck themselves away, and the silence is a little jarring, the cold settling over both of them now that it’s over. Bucky gets Steve’s attention with a hand on his hip and moves a little closer just to see if he can. Steve goes willingly, leans back against the wall again with a smile. 

“What now?” He asks, voice rough. “Jesus, you’re insatiable.” Bucky presses a sweet kiss to the corner of his mouth, boxes him in between his arms. 

“Just wanted to see if you were still with me. Seemed like you were somewhere else for a second there.” Bucky licks into his mouth, deep and wet and slow. “Did someone show you a good time, kitten?” Steve rolls his eyes, but kisses Bucky again, sweeps his clever little tongue against his lower lip. 

“Yeah, yeah,” he whispers, “you’re a stud, whatever.” They kiss again, for longer this time, and it’s easier to come down like that. Jesus christ, Bucky has missed this. Screwing around, sure, but this is different. Closing his eyes and breathing slowly through his nose, trading loose, fucked-out, sleepy kisses with someone else, it’s - it’s a little trippy, to be honest. 

“Alright,” he drawls, taps two fingers to Steve’s hip. “I might have also been stalling for time. You can stay with me during my  _ watch _ , but sooner or later we gotta go back down there, you know.” He tugs on Steve’s shirt. “And you smell like a whorehouse.” 

Steve squawks, offended and punches Bucky in the shoulder. “Jerk!” He spits, and it’s the funniest thing Bucky’s ever heard. “Jesus, you were so nice to me when I made you come, what happened to that guy.” Bucky laughs, pushes back on the play-fighting and kisses Steve’s neck. 

“I’d tell you to make me come again, but I can imagine your dude downstairs is gonna tell that something’s up.” Steve groans again, presses a hand to his eyes. 

“Aw, damn, Sam is gonna be so disappointed in me. Gonna judge me forever now.” Bucky claps Steve’s shoulder, looks around to find where they dropped the sweater. He finds it a few feet away, throws it at Steve. “Take your shirt off.” He says. “We’ll wash it if it’s not too bad.” Steve does as he’s told and watches as Bucky puts on his jacket and starts stretching out his limbs, trying to keep the warm simmer in his body. 

“So, we’re staying with you then?” Steve asks, and Bucky can’t tell if he’s teasing or not. He’s eyes are round, honest, blinking at Bucky like he has all the answers. 

Bucky shrugs. “If you want. Don’t think  _ Sam  _ is gonna trust me anytime soon, especially when he sees what I’ve done to you, but we’ve got a pretty good fort here. We’ve gotta get the hell out of the city, but until then I’m sure Nat and Clint can handle you.” Steve fidgets with his collar, crosses his arms to mirror Bucky’s stance. 

“And when you leave? Do we get to stay with you then?” Bucky blinks, and they’re staring at each other for a while - it feels like a dare, waiting for the other to break first. Bucky shrugs again.

“If you want to. And if  _ Sam  _ won’t mind.” Steve smiles a little, shoulders dropping like he’s lowering the defenses. 

“His name is just Sam, you know. You don’t have to say it like that.” Bucky frowns, turns around to get the blanket. He spreads it out on the ground. 

“Like what?” He asks. “I’m sure  _ Sam  _ and I are gonna be pals.” He pulls Steve down next to him, shivers when he puts his face on Bucky’s shoulder. Steve laughs into his jacket, exasperated.

“If I’d known you would be like this I woulda stayed away. Feel like I made a deal with the devil.”

“ _ Oh,  _ yeah. You’re outta your depth, kitten.” Above them, the sky is a dusky dark blue, bleeding over into black with more stars Bucky has ever seen over a town like this. 

_ I know how it feels _ , Bucky thinks, and pretends that nothing has changed.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from NFWMB by Hozier  
> Notes: Tiny mention of daddy kink.  
> Unsafe sex.  
> Natasha threatens to shoot Steve and Sam to make them stop moving. She is arguably serious.  
> Bucky has a hand over Steve's face to quiet him, but stops when he is told that Steve has difficulty breathing. He threatens to dislocate Steve's jaw, and later threatens to break it, and to penetrate him without any prep - it's evident to the reader that he's not actually gonna do any of those, and the latter are done because Bucky can tell it excites Steve to hear.  
> Bucky calls Steve kitten/kitty/pussycat a whole lot, refers to him being able to purr and as having claws and paws. It's not really pet play, it's just Bucky being a nasty motherfucker.  
> For the aesthetic: Shrinkyclinks works, but it's non-serum Steve, and then like. Mid-WWII, crazy-eyed, dirty-mouthed Bucky Barnes. Love that guy.


End file.
